Nothing's Gonna Stop Her Now
by Stydealized
Summary: Farm girl Dusti Crophopper longs to be a racer and experience more freedom, rather than be grounded. When her opportunity to race with the big dogs comes to her, she snags it. Just one problem: she's really really scared of heights. (Humanized/Genderbend AU) More information in story.
1. Eat my Dust!

**For anyone wondering...**

 **Yes, this is a rewrite of the movie Planes and potentially Planes: Fire and Rescue.**

 **Yes, this is humanized.**

 **Yes, this is a genderbend, but of Dusty only. (First one of its kind!) Canon voice is Kacey Musgraves.**

 **Yes, there will be some events added in or changed to match the story.**

 **Yes, I've done research. (To see how the planes work/other stuff too.)**

 **Yes, Planes belongs to Disney.**

 **No, there won't be the Ishani and Dusty pairing. (I've got something unique in store.)**

 **And** **finally, THANK YOU for Queen of Fairies15 for inspiring me to make this fic. Definitely recommend you read hers.**

* * *

Blue sky, dusted with clouds.

The perfect scenery to go flying.

Two jets took the chance as they soared above the cliffs, leaving trails of droplets of water vapour to trail behind them like a kite tail.

As they flipped over to talk, one of the men asked his friend, "What's taking this girl so long? Is she really as good as she says she is?"

"No," the other responded, with his lips tugging into a playful smile. "Better."

"OOOOOH YEEEEAH!" A girl's voice, combined with a small orange and white plane zipped by them, making the two jolt in their seats.

"Whoa, who was that?"

Back into view soared the small plane again, identified as a crop-duster with a teenage girl inside, peeking through the window with a pair of goggles strapped over her eyes.

"Hey boys," She taunted over the radio in a mischievous voice. "Ready to lose?"

Oh, they were NOT going to let a crop-duster or a teenager, _out of all things,_ outfly them, no way, no how!

"Last one to the water tower buys a round of drinks." The right one placed down his challenge, while the girl inside only scoffed.

"Tell you what, I'll give you guys a head start. You're so gonna need it!"

The left one rolled his eyes and drawled, "Later, loser."

Both descended below the clouds in a barrel roll as she subconsciously counted the seconds in her head.

 _One one thousand, two one thou-Ah, that's enough._

"Let's do this, Strut." She patted the dashboard of her plane. He had done her good for 5 years, ever since she started flight training when she was 12.

Then she turned the yoke to the side and followed them, heading at an angle straight towards the ground, just barely pulling up at the last second, flying only around a hundred feet in the air before regaining her altitude and twisting around to avoid a mountain.

She dipped down and skimmed the top of the river, making drops of water spray everywhere before coming back up to gaze at her hometown of Propwash Junction.

Finally, as the water tower was getting closer, with her right on their tails flying over the fields, she released a stream of water vapour from Strut's sprayer as she accelerated and performed a radial g-turn over the two jets. She was gonna win!

"Eat it suckers! Eat my-"

* * *

"Dusti!"

And just like that, another perfectly good daydream wasted as the world melted back into the boring roundabout corn fields.

Ending up with her mentor smothered in that stinking Vitaminamulch compost.

The old man, Leadbottom coughed from being smothered with his creation. Sure, he loved the smell of it to a fault, but that didn't mean he enjoyed being practically suffocated in it.

"Pay attention. You're daydreaming again!"

"Who, me? No. No. No. No. No." One look from the old geezer debunked her theory that he bought it. "OK, fine. I was. But seriously? How hard is this?" Dusti groaned as she continued to spray the fertilizer over the crops. Strut's paint job was covered in the stuff, with spots of dark brown on the sides, wheels and wings from the dirty work. "Fly straight, turn around, fly straight, turn around-"

Leadbottom cut off the girl's rant. "Hey now, are you disrespecting the sweet science of aerial-application?"

"Strut is more than just a crop-duster," she snapped as she pulled away from the corn field, turning off her sprayer momentarily. "And I am more than just a farm girl."

"Please don't tell me you're gonna flap-jaw about that Flings around the Planet air-racing nonsense again." The old man was very clear about being sick of that being her conversation topic almost every single day since she found out about it. He would never understand why she couldn't just be happy dusting crops like he was.

The two turned around to dust the next rows of crops as they continued to bicker, like how a father and daughter would do. Technically, he was a surrogate father to her, since she lost her parents at a young age and he decided to take her into custody when no one else would. But one more year and Dusti would be out of his hair. She was 17 and she did not want to dust crops all her life.

Dusti was thankful for Leadbottom to be her adoptive father, but sometimes she secretly wished he was more supportive of her dreams.

She was meant to be free, not grounded here.

"Excuse me, it's called the Wings around the Globe Rally," She started, Leadbottom muttering something under his breath that sounded like _For the love of Peterbilt..._

"And it's **NOT** nonsense." Dusti continued, unfazed by him. "I've been flying for 5 years and Strut's got a tight turn radius and a high power to weight ratio-"

Leadbottom couldn't take it anymore. "And a screw loose! Why would you wanna give up crop-dusting after 3 years of doing it?"

 _Gee, **such** a **big** mystery._

"Take a look around you, blue skies, no air traffic and the tangy scent of Vitaminamulch." He took a big breath in and sighed contentedly. "Just like mama used to spray, delicious."

Dusti gagged at the awful stench. "They say sense of smell is the first thing to go." She was so tempted to put a clothespin on her nose, but boy, did her "mentor" put up a fit that one time she tried.

Then the train whistle sounded in the distance. Dusti let out a silent sigh of relief. Finally, she could leave the fields and go out with Chug to practice.

"Oh, that's my cue! See ya later, Leadbottom!" The older man only stared after the girl in confusion as she left him to finish his work on his own. What was with her crazy delusions? She was a farmer, and that's all she'd ever be.

"A cropduster wanting to be a racer. If you ask me, more racers should wanna be crop-dusters." He mumbled to himself, before he started humming his favourite song.

It was about Vitaminamulch.

What else?

* * *

"So now they've got soybean protein shakes, switchgrass juice, algae smoothies, yuck!" A teen with messy dark brownish red hair and lighter brown eyes complained to the other, an slightly older one with short black hair and grey eyes as he filled up the last jerry can with more fuel.

"Wow, what people do for dieting." The other rolled his eyes at it, taking a gulp of his soda.

"I don't even wanna know how far people will go with this weird health fad, but I tell ya, there's nothing better than Propwash's famous Corn Cold Sober Cocktail! Alcohol-free, of course. And..." He screwed on the cap tight. "There ya go, Sparky. You're all set. Hope this is enough for Skipper and the others."

"Catch ya later, Chug." Sparky waved goodbye to his friend, toting the fuel away.

"Seeya 'round." Static buzzed in from his headset that he always wore in case the two wanted to practice racing at the last minute.

"This is Dusti Crophopper to Chug. Over." The sweet girl's voice rang into his ear.

"Chug isn't here, use the new call sign!" The teen ran to his green fuel truck named Turbo to meet Dusti at their usual training grounds.

"Oh, right. This is Strut Jetstream calling Turbo Coach Truck-zilla. Ready for some practice?"

"You betcha, Strut!"

As Dusti flew over a nearby hanger, an older man, probably in his 60s by now, gazed out the window. Silvery hair with a few darker locks of black. Steely silver eyes. A dark blue-grey uniform that had shown the years of wear in the army.

He didn't want to see her flying.

Brought back too many painful memories.

But he couldn't bring himself to close the curtain over his window.

Finally, the green fuel truck had the orange plane in his sights at their meeting place.

"I got you in sight, now let's start with some corn-row sprints! Drop and give me 20!"

Round and round back and forth over the rows, she flew Strut with wide sweeping turns.

"Come on buddy, keep it going!"

"What else you got?" Dusti challenged her friend.

He flipped to the next page of his book. "OK, now let's try some treeline moguls!"

That was a breeze. Gently, she maneuvered her plane up and down, over the row of trees.

"Up and down, up and down, don't dog it! Looking good, Dusti!" Chug cheered her on, before continuing. "Now, adjust your angle of bank with your alien irons!"

"Um," Dusti corrected her friend's mispronunciation. "Don't you mean _ailerons_?"

"Oh, yeah."

But a loud bang, followed by the dark plumes of smoke spewing from the plane's exhaust pipe managed to cut their training session short.

"Oh, great." Dusti cringed at what part of Strut she possibly could have damaged now as she flew closer to the ground.

* * *

"So, how is he?" The farm girl asked her mechanic friend, Dottie as she reached deeper under Strut's hood, her chocolate brown eyes examining the possible problems.

"I don't know yet, Dusti. I'm still looking through his engine." The shorter girl popped her head back up, wiping some sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist before going back into the warm engine space.

Dustine, or Dusti, as she preferred to be called, had long bright copper hair that reached her waist and tousled bangs. Usually as straight as a pin, it was tied back into a braid for work's sake, cause who in their right mind wants manure in their hair?! Despite being out in the sun for at least a few hours a day, her skin was very light and dusted with freckles all over her arms, cheekbones and backs of her hands.

But the most striking feature were her eyes; bright blue gemstones that could put the sky to shame and always a sparkle in them that could lighten up any day.

Being a country girl, she did not enjoy girly things like makeup, jewelry or pretty fashionable clothes. If anything was up to her, all-natural and comfort was what mattered in appearance. Leadbottom really put an influence on her with his lifestyle growing up.

And without all of that other stuff to hold her back or change her interests, she learned talents from the townspeople in other ways; taking care of and riding horses. Wilderness survival skills. And flying at such a young age.

Propwash was just that kind of town that everyone knew everyone.

"Well, here's the problem. Strut's main oil seal is worn out." She closed his hood sharply and wiped her hands to get rid of the motor oil.

"That kind of damage comes from extremely high speeds, pushing the engine to the red line for prolonged periods of time. But that couldn't be you, you're a farmer and all you do is dust crops at extremely _low_ speeds."

"Yeah, yeah-"

"Unless you've been racing again!" The ginger-haired girl jumped back at her friend's sudden change in voice with a death glare that could kill her at least 10 times over.

"I-I-I, uh-" Dottie's death glare could do a lot to shut a person up out of fear.

"Dusti, Strut isn't built for this kind of flying! He's built to dust crops, not to race! If you push him too hard, then his engine will fail! Imagine if that happened if you were high up in the air and he fails on you!"

By now, the taller, yet younger teenager was mildly shaking like a leaf and the other girl, knowing when she crossed boundaries, stepped back with a sigh.

"Listen, I just worry about you. You know how dangerous racing can be sometimes." Dottie gave her a gentle reminder as she put her wrenches away, not looking at the younger girl. Dusti's lips curved downwards into a half-frown. Ever since she met Dottie when they were little, they had been virtually inseparable as sisters and it was only right that she'd be concerned.

"I understand, Dottie. I'll stop-"

"But I guess I can't stop you from being a free spirit. So, I'll come with you to the qualifier." A smirk crawled onto the mechanic's face as she gathered her toolbox together. Deep down, she always knew that Dusti wasn't meant to do what she was built for. Perhaps something greater. But did she have to attempt it with such a low-quality plane in terms of what she dreamed of doing?

"You-you're serious?!"

Dottie shook her head, still smiling. "How could I possibly say no to my little sister?"

She immediately regretted her actions as the taller girl scooped her into a bear hug, completely fuelled by elation. She was skinny, but that didn't mean that Dusti was a weakling.

"Oh, thank you thank you thank you! I gotta tell Chug!" She released the other girl from her grasp and ran outside.

A few minutes later, a whoop of excitement could be heard, while Dottie rolled her eyes.

Those two never ceased to amaze her the leaps and bounds of trouble they could get her into...

* * *

"Tune in, in two weeks for the start of the Wings around the Globe Rally." The man on the tv dressed in the blue suit addressed the audience. The two were in Dusti's hangar, where she not only kept Strut, but also lived there. Leadbottom allowed her to live closer to other people, unlike where he lived, further out into the country and the cornfields. But since she believed that she couldn't take care of a house, _just_ yet, she figured an airplane hangar would do just as well.

"I think we've got this race in the bag, Chug."

"Yeah," he pulled out his book. "Especially if I finish this book by then."

"And now for the 10 best air crashes of all time." The announcer's voice caught their attention once again.

"Oooh, turn it up! I love this show!" Dusti grabbed the remote and raised the volume higher.

Number 10 was a blue plane that smashed prop first into the ground from the raised runway.

"Yikes."

Number 9 was a green plane that tore through a marker and barrelled right into the ground, also prop first.

"Wow, that is SO not gonna buff out."

"You know, Dust. I don't think," He flipped through the pages of his Air Racing for Dummies book. "This covers absolutely EVERYTHING. I think we need help. Professional help."

"What do you mean?"

"I was thinking someone like, I don't know...Skipper Riley?" A look of confusion and passiveness crossed her features so swiftly it was barely there.

"You mean that war veteran that flies that old Corsair?"

"Yeah, yeah! My buddy Sparky says he was a legendary flight instructor in the navy. He knows techniques we couldn't even dream of!"

"He's been grounded for decades. Why would I want to be taught by a pilot that doesn't even fly?"

"At least he's a pilot." Chug finished the discussion then and there. Deep down, Dusti knew he was right. As much as Chug could do his best to help, she couldn't really get better at flying without an actual mentor who knew how to fly.

"And finally, for the number 1 crash of all time."

A loud crash was heard as the two winced at the impact. "Ouch."

"I'm OK..." the man warbled out, before orange light exploded in their faces combined with a boom! and their pained faces turned into ones of gaping shock.

"Ooh, that's gotta hurt."

* * *

The world sure loved making the atmosphere of a problem perfect, because tonight, the moon was full and high in the sky, shining like a lightbulb as a frigid breeze tousled a lone black flag with a skull and crossbones on it.

"They say he shot down 50 planes. I've heard stories about his squadron the Jolly Wrenches. They were the roughest, toughest, meanest fliers in the navy. Ruthless killers that showed no mercy. They'd shoot you as soon as-" Chug cut himself off when he saw his best friend, way more nervous and uncomfortable than she was before.

If she wasn't apprehensive then, then she certainly was now.

Chug did the only thing he could think of and gripped her hand for comfort.

"Don't worry, Duster. You don't have to face this alone." _The least I could do..._

"Thanks, Chug." She flashed him a nervous smile with pearly white teeth.

The tension in the air was thicker than molasses as she reached out her finger and pressed the doorbell, reverberating with an echoing chime.

Silence.

Then the sliding doors rolled back with a groan to reveal the seasoned man and his helper, Sparky.

"Ummm... hey, Skipper... I'm trying out for the Wings A-Around the Globe Rally and," She swallowed a lump in her throat back. "I was, _we_ were wondering...if you could train me?" That's all the girl could get out before her tongue and stomach knotted up.

Chug decided to finish what she started. "We know that you, you know, can't fly anymore. But you could at least give us a few minor pointers, and I dunno, maybe tell us what we're doing wrong?"

No response.

"Dusti's a really good flyer, can't you give her a chance?"

A long long pause.

There was no emotion on Skipper's profile as the doors slammed shut and the lights flickered off, leaving the two teens in the dark.

"Well...at least we tried."

* * *

"I don't know _how_ you talked me into this." Dottie rolled her eyes as she opened the door to Chug's truck and stepped out into the open air of Lincoln, Nebraska.

"Oh, come on, Dottie. It's gonna be fun!" Dusti shrugged with a grin on her face, growing ever wider as she saw the different plane models waiting and ready to compete for the qualifier.

"Whoa! A Red Tail P-51!" Chug pointed to a black and white striped one with a red prop.

"A Sea Fury!" Dusti saw a dark grey and cream coloured plane getting picture after picture snapped of it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," A loud male voice proclaimed over a headset. "May we have your attention please." The owner of the voice was a young man with dark brown hair and dressed in a green and white suit, next to another man looking almost identical, except the colours on his suit were swapped. Likely identical twins. "Time to direct your eyes to the heavens above and give a warm welcome to our special guest. The prince of propellers,"

All eyes directed to a black and green Racing Mustang with orange flame details flying in a loop with bright green smoke trailing behind him.

"When he's speeding, he's leading."

The pilot angled his plane towards the snapping paparazzi. "Get my good side, fellas!"

"When he's grinning, he's winning."

With another twist, he started to land on the runway and through his cloud of green smoke emerged-

"The one and only..." The two twins joined in together.

The plane's windshield opened back to reveal a 26 year old man, with toned muscle, wavy black hair and green eyes stepped out, with a smirk that could rival Chick Hicks.

"RIPSLINGER!" At that moment, he tossed his head back to the cameras as the fireworks went off from behind him.

"Caught in the riptide! Thanks for coming out! Who wants a picture?" The three were completely ignored as the smoke cleared and Ripslinger went off to sign autographs with his cronies. His plane was being tugged away back to its sponsor tent.

"Well, with all that self-promotion, at least he's _modest_." Dottie coughed in disgust and with a lack of impressment as she waved the smoke away.

"Dottie, that's Ripslinger!" Dusti looked more pumped up than ever to start racing. She probably wanted to impress Ripslinger. Not for romance, but more in the way a sidekick wanted to make their hero proud of them.

Chug picked off where his friend stopped. "He's captain of the team RPX. They call him-"

"The Green Tornado!" The two fangirled/boyed at the same time, causing their other friend to roll her eyes.

"And those two are Ned and Zed. The Twin Turbos!" The male pointed at the two twins, giving waves to the crowd just behind the older racer. "They're world class racers!"

"I heard they were one person and were separated at birth." Dottie usually didn't like spreading rumours, but this time...was an exception.

"Wow, I wish I was separated at birth."

* * *

"OK, people, this is the last of the four time trials being held worldwide. Today's qualifying round is one lap around the pylons. The top five finishers will qualify for the rings around the Globe Rally." A short man in a blue and silver short-sleeved dress suit and baseball cap, with light brown hair and goatee, leaned back into his chair as he spoke to the contestants. "Fonzarelli, you're up, my man!" The first contender, a man in a yellow and blue checkered plane drove towards the runway and took off.

 _And now, for your viewing eyes and lack of attention spans..._

 _TIME SKIP!_

 _That, and I really really HATE writing about flying maneuvers._

* * *

It was Dusti's turn now. But her confidence had diminished somewhat, seeing all the other talented racers as well.

What if she didn't make it?

 _No, stop thinking that. Just focus and do your best._

"Fueled and ready, Duster." Chug screwed the cap back on the jerry can.

"Good and tight." Dottie slammed down the hood to Strut's engine. "All set."

Dusti rubbed Strut's side gently as if to calm both him and herself. "Let's go make our dream come true." Then, she jumped back into Strut and started to drive down the runway with her friends following her.

"From Propwash Junction, Strut Jetstream!" Roper called for her.

"Strut Jetstream?" Dottie didn't even want to know why Chug inserted that name in place of her real name.

"Awesome call sign, right?"

"That explains it."

"HEY! Farm girl! Landscaping was yesterday!" Roper yelled at her to move. "Get off the runway, we're racing here! Second call for Strut Jetstream-"

"I'M STRUT JETSTREAM!"

A pause.

" _You're_ Strut Jetstream?"

"Yeah!"

"A crop duster?" At Roper's incredulous statement, a round of snickers rose up from the other racers. Was this girl for real? Racing with that? Under all of their whispers and giggles, Dusti could feel herself shrink up.

"What's going on here, is everybody getting to fly today? Man, your momma must have had high hopes for you. Your plane is built for seed, not speed."

As she continued to drive down the runway, she could hear a interesting voice comment from the side lines.

"You've gotta be kidding me. That farm girl's gonna race? How low have our standards dropped?" That was Ripslinger.

 _Ripslinger..._

"With a prop that small?" One of the twins sneered, nudging his brother in the side.

"Maybe he races the guy who drives that leaky old fuel truck next to her!" The other one laughed.

"HEY! Don't you talk crud about me or my friends! So help me, I'll-" Dottie could barely hold him back from throttling the twins. They were only two years older than him; Chug could take them!

"Don't lower yourself to their level." She gave a thumbs up to Dusti. "Go on, Strut and show prove them wrong."

The younger girl nodded, but as she picked up some speed before her take off, the jeers in the air pelted her like a hailstorm. She tried not to let them bother her, but they still slipped by her and gave her doubt. Could she even do this?

"Who's that girl?"

"You're gonna try out?"

"A crop duster?"

"Cornfield's over that way!"

"Nice of you to take the day off, just to lose!"

But another voice, shoved all of those insults at the back of her head and turned her uncertainty, into steely determination.

 _"My little aviator, I know you can reach your dreams one day. And if you dream of being an air racer, then you can be an air racer. All you need is the determination and perseverance to make that dream come true."_

She revved up the torque and took to the air.

"It's going to be a tall order for her to knock Fonzarelli out of fifth place. And she's off!" Roper observed the girl.

"This oughta be rich." Ripslinger smirked as he watched the teenager take off the runway. There was NO WAY that she'd make the qualifier, let alone get anywhere near that spot! She was just a farm girl with a measly little crop-duster. Pathetic.

"193 miles per hour. She's into Gate 2, clean through the horizontal."

 _Ease it in, don't overthink it..._

"At the first split, she's a full second behind Fonzarelli. That's a lot of time to make up, but this gal's aggressive."

 _Tight turns, keep some distance so nothing collides..._

"Now she's making that hard 270-degree radial-G turn! That's it!

Around the bend, serpentine through those pylons...

"Setting herself up. Left vertical turn. Lining up for the three-pylon chicane."

 _Back and forth, back and forth..._

"She's gaining speed and now she's only half a second behind Fonzarelli and closing rapidly!"

 _Accelerate and pull up, up..._

"Up she goes! Up and away! Now only two-tenths of a second behind Fonzarelli! Oh, it's going to be close!"

"You got this, Dusti!" Her friends cheered from the sidelines. She had this in the bag!

 _Twist in mid-air, across the finish and...LAND!_

"Oh, yes! What a finish! Now that's what you call flying!"

As Strut came back down, Dusti climbed out. Her face was flushed and sweaty, not from any heat, but rather the rush of adrenaline that came when flying like this. She loved that feeling and it wasn't anything you could get from dusting crops. _Surely, I made it...right?_

"Jetstream," the announcer displayed her time on the board. "The official time is 1 minute, 24.26 seconds. Sixth place, but what a close one."

Sixth place...

Dusti's face fell as she realized, _I didn't make it... And it was only by .10 seconds... What did I do wrong?_

"Hey, girly."

The fifth-place racer, Fonzarelli approached her with an apologetic smile on his face.

"Sixth place ain't nothin' to be ashamed of. That was a heck of a run, especially for someone flying with a crop-duster. You did great, kid."

Dusti mustered some courage to smile back, but it was hard to when you were holding back tears.

"Thanks."

But it still stung so badly.

To be so close and yet,

Just not good enough.

* * *

 **I was going to have this out sooner, but Fanfiction decided to LOG ME OUT the exact moment I wanted to save! AND I LOST SO MUCH WORK! (sobs in corner) But that's in the past...**


	2. Time to Train

**I'M BAAAAAAACK! And believe it or not, in the works, I have a collection (not yet written) of Cars/Planes oneshots to post in the future! So be excited! What do you guys think about Salqueen and Holley/Mater fan kids?**

 **Disclaimer: Planes belongs to Disney.**

* * *

It had only been two days since the qualifier had wrapped up, but Dusti's mood still hadn't improved since she lost. She hadn't made any effort to practice flying with Chug anymore; what was the point? If she couldn't have made the simplest qualifier, how for the love of Chrysler would she make it all the way around the world?

 _You could have trained better, practiced more... You could have made it if you weren't so...pathetic. You'll never reach your dreams. May as well give up now.._

She did her best not to cry. She hadn't in so long. But the more she tried to hold back, the harder it got.

Finally, sky blue eyes poured liquid crystal that dripped onto Strut's control panel. She just couldn't stop herself, especially not after the events that had transpired previously.

Her pale hand rubbed away the tears, so she wouldn't be flying with impaired vision. After all, if she WAS going to be cropdusting for the rest of her life, she may as well do it so she wouldn't crash.

Little did she know, someone was watching her.

Someone with a storm silver gaze.

Skipper lowered his binoculars from Dusti. He had never seen the girl so low in her life, not even when she lost her parents. Should he have done _something?_

And suddenly, Dusti wasn't there anymore. Nor was Strut.

Flying low, was not a girl, but a woman. Brown hair. Sky blue eyes. All the heart in the world. And flying in a small black and white plane.

 _She's going to do great things one day, Skip. I just know it!_

Instead of Dusti, it was-

 _Jackie... Why couldn't you be here in a time like this?_

"You're thinking about Jackie, aren't you?" Sparky's voice made Skipper jump. It was like he was reading the war veteran's thoughts.

"Can I help it, Sparky? She's Dusti's mother. I wanna help her, but it...it just brings back so many bad memories." For the longest time, being in her presence made his heart sink, all because he couldn't move on from what happened. He couldn't move on from Jackie.

"Jackie would have wanted it. More than anything in the world. So why can't we do something for her in her memory?"

There was no more spoken about that conversation after that.

* * *

"Ow, dagnabbit! Let me drive!" An agitated voice grumbled from a small blue and white truck, one from the Wings Around the Globe rally made its way down the dusty and very bumpy dirt road to Propwash Junction.

"And there you go, Mayday." Chug finished filling up the old rusty firetruck that Mayday, a well-seasoned firefighter with stark grey hair and hazel eyes drove. "All filled up and ready to go."

Mayday said his farewells, when the truck skidded in, kicking up a cloud of dust and a very likely bruised Roper stumbled out of the truck, clipboard in hand.

"Unbelievable! Why don't you just go back, cause I think you _missed_ a pothole! Man, you are the worst driver that has ever driven another person!" He loudly finished chewing out the driver, who gave an obnoxious horn honk in response.

"Can I help you?" Chug asked politely.

"Please tell me this is Propwash Junction." Roper practically begged and when Chug told him yes, he let out such a sigh of relief. "Oh, finally! You guys aren't even on the map!"

"But didn't you have a nice drive looking at the scenery?"

"Yeah, if ya like looking at dirt and corn 24/7. But I'm not here for landscaping; I'm here for a Strut Jetstream."

For a minute, Chug was confused at who he wanted. "Um, who?"

"Jetstream, Strut Jetstream." Roper repeated and that seemed to ring a bell for him.

"Oh yeah! Strut! I'll get her! Just stay here!" He ran off to fetch his friend, swearing he could hear Roper yell after him something like, "Not like I have a choice!"

 _Where would she be, where would she be, Chug?_ The teen wondered as he tried to remember Dusti's schedule. Well, it was a weekday and she usually would work on weekdays. The whistle hadn't sounded yet...so she must still be at the cornfields.

But there was no sign of the small orange crop-duster when he arrived at the bright green fields. None, nada, zip and zilch.

At least until there was a twanging sound. He strained his ears to try and pick up on it better. That's when it got louder. The twanging wasn't just twanging.

The sound of banjo music filled the air. His heart lightened a bit excitedly as he knew what this meant. Now, he was _sure_ he knew where she was.

The girl was sitting at the base of the old oak tree, where she, Chug and Dottie would always hang out when they were kids. Namely Dusti and Chug trying to see who could climb the highest, or in Chug's case, fall from the highest spot without getting hurt. He wasn't a pro tree climber, that's for sure. Dottie would just be there on the ground to act as a safety cush-uh, someone to tell the adults if they did get hurt.

 _'If you ain't got two kids by twenty-one,_  
 _You're probably gonna die alone_  
 _At least that's what tradition told you'_

Dusti wasn't just an aspiring flier.

Another one of her talents was singing.

 _'And it don't matter if you don't believe,_  
 _Come Sunday morning you best be there_  
 _In the front row, like you're s'posed to_

 _'Same hurt in every heart_  
 _Same trailer, different park'_

 _'Mama's hooked on Mary Kay_  
 _Brother's hooked on Mary Jane_  
 _And Daddy's hooked on Mary two doors down'_

 _'Mary Mary quite contrary,_  
 _We get bored so we get married_  
 _And just like dust we settle in this town_  
 _On this broken merry go 'round and 'round and 'round we go,_  
 _Where it stops nobody knows,_  
 _And it ain't slowin' down, this merry go 'round'_

"Duster!" The sound of Chug's voice made her strike a few wrong notes in surprise, ending her little serenade. She never really liked having others watch her sing, but...Chug was an exception. Maybe Dottie on occasion, but those two ONLY.

"Oh, hey. Just taking a breather, Turbo. Want something?"

"You know about the qualifier back on Wednesday?" Chug's question caused a frown to form on her lips. She didn't want to be reminded of how badly she failed and certainly not from her best friend.

"Yeah...what about it?" Her tone was much harsher than she wanted to, but that didn't seem to deter his mood.

"Well...boy have I got a surprise for you!"

* * *

Roper was surprised how long it took to find 'Strut'. Especially considering how small this town was; if it was small enough to be on the map, it shouldn't take that long for anyone to be found here.

And when he saw the 17-year old approach with her best friend, he realized,

This was actually the first time he'd seen the girl out of her plane.

Her copper hair was tangled and wavy, in the messy yet cute sort of way. An extra large red and black flannel was tied around her waist like a hoodie, combined with a plain white t-shirt and faded skinny jeans. The only things that didn't match were the black high tops the girl wore on her feet and the pair of racing goggles on her forehead.

"So you're Strut Jetstream."

"Actually, Strut was just a nickname. My real name is Dusti Crophopper."

" _Dusty_? As in 'dirty and dusty'?"

"Uh, no. It's with an I. It's short for Dustine."

" _Sure_ , girly." Roper took a step closer only to recoil two steps back in disgust, fanning his nose. "Googly moogly, what is that smell?!"

Dusti winced in embarrassment; she was so used to smelling that compost, she sometimes forgot it bugged others too. Strut was the one that got dirty, but she got in on the stench as well. "It's Vitaminamulch."

"Vitaminawhat?"

Leadbottom found that moment to show up and give his chipper opinion about his fertilizer.

"The finest smelling compost this side of the Mississippi. Original, creamy and chunky style." He took a big sniff in delight. Anyone else thinking of the last thing he said, they'd thought he was talking about peanut butter. "Smell that? It's like daffodils and like Sunday dinner. I just love it. I love it."

Then he proceeded to hum his favourite song while going back to his own business, "I got some Minamulch, yeah! I got some Minamulch, yeah..."

When he was out of listening distance, Roper expressed his own thoughts on the kooky old man.

"Uh, that ole' farmer needs some help. Y'all know that, right?"

"Yeah." They both chorused. Sure, Leadbottom had a good heart, but he could be real strange at times with anything involving compost.

The man flipped to one of the pages on his clipboard. "Are you familiar with the racing fuel additive Nitro Methane?"

"Oh, yeah! Zip juice! Go-go punch! That stuff..." Chug paused when he saw Roper raise an eyebrow at him. "Is totally illegal, definitely illegal. Yup. Illegal."

"That substance was found in the tank of the fifth-place qualifier, Fonzarelli. Illegal fuel usage is an automatic DQ."

Something about that clicked in Dusti's brain. If the fifth place qualifier was disqualified and she was the sixth placer, did that mean... "Wait, are you saying-"

Roper smiled at the girl. "He's out, you're in. Congratulations."

"I'm in?!"

"She's in!" Chug put two fingers in his mouth and whisked for the others. "She got in! Dusti got in!"

"Are you serious?" Dottie wiped her hands on her overalls to get rid of the motor oil.

"Duster, ya did it!" Sparky cheered for his friend.

"Dusti, don't do anything stupid out there. Just play it safe." The slightest hint of a smirk crawled onto Dusti's face. Same old Dottie, always looking out for her.

"This is gonna be so cool!" Her best friend started to list off the possible and scary obstacles that she could be, no wait, _certainly_ faced with when she competed. "You're gonna cross oceans thousands of miles wide, freezing your rear off one day-"

Sparky picked the sentence up next. "And burning it off the next!" Then the two proceeded to play a game of verbal ping-pong with the disasters that were faced in flying around the world.

"Freaking hurricanes!"

"Cyclones!"

"Typhoons!"

"Monsoons!"

"Tornados!"

"Sandstorms!"

"Gale force winds!"

Unfortunately for Dusti, as these words sank in, her face fell from the grin it was in earlier, to a much more anxious look. Was she really going to have to brave all that in the race? She wasn't _that_ experienced!

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

* * *

"Hmmm."

The red line in front of her was taunting her.

She just knew it.

The small red line on the map in front of her was simply the route she had to fly on during the race. All around the world. Through at least 5 countries.

For all of her life, she'd wanted to make her parents proud by following her dreams.

Now that her dreams were coming true...

That made it all the more scarier.

"Bad idea." She hadn't heard Skipper enter her hanger, but his voice still made her jump as Sparky wheeled him in. Skipper was an amputee. The impact from one of his last war battles had left his legs broken beyond repair and they had to be amputated. He had gotten prosthetics as of late, but didn't often wear them, causing him discomfort and preferred having Sparky push him around anyways.

"Your rolls are sloppy, turns are too wide and slow on your straightaways." The only way she was going to get better was if she was given an honest opinion of her flying without sugarcoating.

That surprised Dusti. The only way he could have known that was..."Wait, were you-"

"Yeah, I've been watching you. And as for your knife edge, you need to be tighter getting in and out."

"Um, OK?"

"Any extra control input costs you speed and seconds-"

"Are you trying to get me to back out?"

Pause. Confused pause.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that I've heard of reverse psychology and I didn't think that someone like you could think I could do this. No one in this town, besides Chug, Sparky and occasionally Dottie truly believes I can do this. Sometimes, _I_ doubt I could do this. Besides, _you_ said, **'Bad idea.'** -"

"Hang on. You misunderstand. _Bad idea_...to go without there with the training you need." His help grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and started to turn him around.

"My hangar, 0500 tomorrow. Don't be late."

"0500?" Was that some kind of codename or-?

"Yeah," Sparky translated before he was completely out the doors. "5 AM."

* * *

Morning finally dawned and Skipper watched Dusti and Strut fly through the air.

"Sparky, binoculars." His help finished cleaning the lenses and handed them to the old war veteran.

"Those are some mighty clean optics, there." Chug remarked, seeing the glass lenses shine in the sunlight. "What do you use? Some kind of shammy?"

"Oh no, it's a special microfiber cloth." Sparky held up a little red piece of cloth, the one he'd been using to clean the binoculars with.

"Ah, microfiber."

"Yeah, lint-free, scratch free, I'll get you some." At this point, Dusti could hear their conversation over the radio as she noticed the group on the cliff. "I got an ex-Navy buddy who sells them to me wholesale. I helped him set up his website-"

"Knock it off." Skipper gave them a stern glare and they both straightened to attention. "We got a lot of work to do." Then he refocused his attention through the binoculars.

Yet, Sparky took the liberty of whispering to Chug, "I'll hook you up."

"Thanks." The other teen hissed back.

"Alright, Dusti." Through his binoculars, Skipper could see her make a slow decent over the fields. "Remember this. It ain't how fast you fly, it's how you fly fast."

"Roger that." The girl responded.

"Show me what you got." Dusti increased her speed and went over the trees, up and down, up and down.

Skipper wasn't really impressed.

"Great, so you can go up and down. What else?" Dusti turned Strut around so he'd make a tight turn. Or so she thought.

"You think that was good? That stunk! Knife-edge those elm trees!" She tried again when she came to those trees. "Keep your nose up!"

That's when Sparky pointed up and Skipper recalled something.

"You want speed, right?"

"Yeah." Of course she did.

"Serious bolt-rattling speed?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Then look up." Dusti could see clouds formed in long straight stripes across the sky, higher up.

"Do you see those clouds? The highway in the sky. Tailwinds like none you've ever flown." Just by imagining how high up that would be made Dusti bite down on her lip nervously. Was she really going to have to go THAT high in the race?

"What are you waiting for?" Skipper's voice snapped. The girl swallowed a lump in her throat and started to ascend.

"Come on, power up. Firewall thrust. Max torque, max torque! Alright, looking good! Hold V-Y, Dusti. Max rate now." By now, she was higher than she'd ever flown in her life. And that was saying a lot, because she hadn't ever gone to cloud level high. Maybe in her daydreams, but that was just her imagination. She hadn't imagined it would be like this!

"Your nose is too high, get your nose down!" But Dusti made a huge mistake; looking down. And what a sight it was to behold! The ground seemed to warp and swirl behind her, appearing much farther away than she actually was. It was scary to visualize it, but even more terrifying to experience it! She-she couldn't do this!

"You're gonna stall! Ease off the pitch! Nose down!" Skipper's last few commands fell on deaf ears as she made her descent.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" What in the blue blazes was that girl doing?

* * *

As she wheeled on the runway, Dusti could feel her heart still pounding like crazy in her chest as she breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm her nerves. That was...intense. And not in the good way. If she couldn't last 10 seconds like that, how would she do in the race?

As she stepped out of Strut to try and get her bearings straight again, a rough voice asked, "What just happened up there?"

Dusti didn't want to face Skipper, practically feeling the old man's glare boring holes into her head. But she didn't dare utter a thing.

"I'm waiting."

Still no response. If she didn't want to take this seriously, so be it. But it was more if she didn't say what her problem was, then he couldn't help her.

"The Jolly Wrenches have a motto; Volo Pro Veritas. It means, 'I fly for truth.'. It appears you don't want to."

Another pause. Then finally, Dusti confessed.

"I'm afraid of heights!"

 _That_ got everyone's attention. She wanted to fly around the _world_ and she was afraid of _heights?_ That sounded completely absurd!

"But...you fly a plane." Chug reminded her.

"I've only worked as a crop-duster! I've never flown over a thousand feet." Only in her imagination had she ever flown that high.

"Are you kidding me?" Skipper voiced what was on everyone's mind. "Scared of heights and you want to race around the _world?_ "

"Uh, Skip," Sparky found this time to interrupt with a war story. "During the attack of Tujunga Harbor, why, even the P-38s had trouble at high altitudes."

"Well, they didn't have to fly over the Himalaya's, did they?" Skipper retorted back.

"I-I'll still be low to the ground, just high up." Dusti tried to convince herself.

"And after the war, those 38s went on to win races." Sparky continued.

"Really? Is that true?" Chug asked his friend.

"Yeah, true! Like in the Cleaveland race of '46."

"For real?"

"Wait, it gets better! In '49, the P-38 Sky Ranger averaged 337 miles per hour."

"Wait, 337?"

"Well, actually 337.4, but they round it down in the record books."

"Why would you do that?"

"Some people just have no respect for decimal points."

"Yeah, I know. Tell me about it."

"Why couldn't they round it up?"

"Seriously, he-"

"Alright, alright." Skipper butted into their conversation that was starting to go _way_ off topic. Maybe they'd convinced him, maybe he was doing it to shut up their yapping, no one could tell. "So you're a flat-hatter. We'll work on that. But for now, let's see if we can turn low and sloppy into low and fast."

Dusti gave him a nod. "Roger that."

* * *

"It'll go like this." Skipper and Sparky had put together some diagrams on an easel to try and get the young girl to understand how their training plan was going to work.

The first page read, "Lesson #1: Shadow Sprints" and it faded to the actual training grounds with dotted lines to show the route. "The flag marks the start line. Across the cornfield, three silos are waiting for you." Each one had a hay bale attached to its side on a board that was fashioned to look like a plane. The hay bale, not the board, of course. The dotted line curved around each one. "Slalom those with a radial-G pass."

"Wait. A radial what pass?" Dusti was confused.

"Once you get to the trees, go to your optimal rate of climb, to about 500 feet." At the 500 feet mark, the line soon made a curl around, sort of like a barrel roll. "Roll inverted and extend, trading altitude for air speed and dive for the finish line." The finish line being a bunch of white and black painted hay bales.

"Uh...OK?"

Back to the old war veteran and his assistant explaining using the diagrams again. "You string that all together, you might have a chance to beat them."

"Who am I racing?"

* * *

Up in the sky today was another plane flying higher in the sky, white with a yellow stripe down its sides. "It's a twin commuter, pushing about 1500 horsepower."

"Uh...he's pretty high up." Dusti wasn't sure if she could go that high again, just after her last failed attempt at trying to stay up there for long. "Are you sure?"

"You're not racing the plane, you're racing its shadow!" The copper haired girl saw a giant dark shape pass over her and quickly pick up speed. "Beat it to the water tower." Dusti narrowed her eyes and increased Strut's speed.

The two crossed the start line and the race commenced.

"Thread the silos." The radio commanded as she reached the three buildings. Dusti did her best to turn around sharply, but it didn't appear sharp enough when Skipper told her, "Tighter! Lean into your turns more!"

As Strut passed some cows grazing in the field, they barely batted an eye. Was she really that slow?

"You're falling behind!" Skipper kept an eye on them through his binoculars. "Begin your climb and catch it with a dive!" Dusti started to ascend to 500 feet.

"Start your dive now!" But as she did, his voice came back on.

"Never mind," The commuter's shadow passed the finish line well before she did. "You already lost."

"Aw, man!"

* * *

Back in the hangar, Dottie was there this time with a page on the easel that said, "Improve airspeed."

"So, we can increase power, or we can decrease drag." She flipped to the other page which showed a crude drawing of Strut and abruptly ripped off the section with his sprayer on.

"Um...I guess...both?" Dusti wasn't going to need that heavy sprayer if she was going to be racing soon. That, and an increase in power would be nice as well.

Dottie opened up Strut's engine and began making modifications to the turbo prop engine. "More torque means more speed."

Later, she took off the sprayer too. Dusti didn't want to admit it, but it kind of felt weird to not have that clunky heavy piece of metal under Strut.

* * *

Back at training, Chug held up a radar gun and as Dusti passed by, it beeped, reading 215 miles per hour. Personally, he thought it was great, but Skipper thought otherwise. "Lousy."

* * *

One day, she focused on nothing but radial G-turns.

"Come on, let's work that radial G-turn!"

She turned around the silo.

"Do it again!"

Another attempt.

"One more time!"

Yet another turn.

"Again!"

* * *

"Come on! Push it, Dusti!" It was raining the day when she tried to race the shadow again. She still lost, but not by too much. "Better."

* * *

After a couple of days of physics diagrams and lessons, engine modifications and sheer practice, Dusti was sure this time, _this time_ she had it. She would totally beat the shadow this time. "Alright, Dusti. Give this run all you got." She narrowed her eyes in determination and increased Strut's speed. She was so ready to take that shadow down.

"Use your radial-G. Let gravity work for you." The silos approached her, but she was ready. In and out, she turned and twisted, much more smoother than she could before. "Looking good."

"Firewall the throttle, go go go!" The speedometer in Strut's dashboard was reaching the red section now. "Go, go, go!"

"You got it, Duster!" Her friends cheered her on. She was doing it!

When she zoomed past the cows now, they really jumped at the blur going by them.

"Begin your climb!" She started once again as usual to climb, up up into the air. "Alright, altitude for airspeed. Catch him with a dive!" She began to turn upside down like a barrel roll in the air, waiting for the perfect opportunity. "Dive now!" She dove quickly, turning herself right-side up again and overtaking the shadow. Just a little further!

The three down on the ground saw that Dusti passed the finish line first! With a speed of 317 miles, just 20 short of the that Sky Ranger in '49. The commuter's shadow came just a little later.

"Ballistic!" Chug shouted.

"YES!" Dusti cheered inside Strut! She did it, she did it, she FINALLY did it! Maybe she did have a chance at the race after all!

"She kicked butt out there!" Sparky whooped.

As the two continued their celebrations, Skipper smiled at her. Small, but there.

"She's ready. I hope you're proud of her, Jackie."

* * *

With a touch of black paint and a stencil, Strut now bore the insignia of the Piston Cross-Wrenches. A pin of the same design, silver like Skipper's eyes, was pinned onto the upper right part of the chest of Dusti's brand new flight suit, courtesy of the last person you'd expected.

Leadbottom.

Dusti was just as surprised as everyone to receive a gift like this from someone like Leadbottom; really really shocked. He wasn't mean or anything, but discouraged racing whenever she brought it up. Why he'd be willing to spend money on her for this, was beyond what her mind could process.

But the old farmer seemed to have disappeared as soon as she recovered from the shock to say thank you. Perhaps he didn't want his reputation to become any more "damaged" from the kind act towards someone who loved what he hated.

As for the flight suit itself, it was a perfect fit on her. The colour was a bright orange, same as Strut's base coat with white sleeves and legs up the to knees. On the white, there were two stripes of black on the cuffs and there was another, thicker band of black around her waist.

"The Piston Cross-Wrenches. Your squadron insignia." She marvelled at the pin, stroking it gently.

"You've earned it, Dustine. Now listen, when the race starts and all those planes take off, it'll stir up a bunch of swirlies, just like the Wrenches ran into in the Battle of Airway."

"Roger that. I still wish you were coming with me, Skip." Dusti fully respected any reasons why the amputee couldn't come and didn't pry too deep into his privacy, but a little part of her deep down wished he could.

"Just radio back when you get to the check points. I'll be your wingman from here."

"Volo Pro Veritas?"

"Volo Pro Veritas."

* * *

"So, do you think you're ready for this, Duster?" Chug and Dusti were sitting at the base of the old oak tree, watching the sunset before Dusti had to leave soon.

"In all honesty, Chug...I'm nervous about it. I mean, I'm going up against some of the best racers in the world and I don't even know what some of the countries even look like that I'm going to be flying through."

"Well, as long as you try your best, cause the best is the best you can do, right?" Dusti smiled at him. Leave it to Chug to always be supportive for her. And for that, she was grateful.

"I guess you're right. But it would be so cool if I actually won this thing. At least, I think so." If she won, she could just imagine how proud her parents would have been.

A beeping on her watch alerted her of her departure time. "Oh, sorry I have to cut this short, Chug. But I gotta go now. I promise I'll call you when I get to Iceland."

"Just come home safely, Dusti." The two friends shared a hug, a wave goodbye and departed ways. Well, at least Dusti did to go back to her hangar and get ready; Chug stayed at the oak tree and continued to watch the sky turn shades of purple and orange.

"So-" A voice made him jump.

"Sparky, dude! You scared me."

"Oh, sorry. Can I sit with you?"

"Sure." The younger teen moved over so that Sparky could sit down.

The two sat for a few moments in silence, before it broke once again with a question.

"Didn't tell her yet, huh?" Sparky wondered out loud.

"Are you kidding, Sparky? How would you react if your best friend suddenly told you they liked you more than a friend?"

"I can't speak for her or myself, so I dunno."

"I'll tell her, but after the race. Just not now."

"OK, Chug. But you'd better do it soon."

"Why?"

"You never know if she could meet someone during the race. And you'd have been too late."

* * *

 **Dear viewers, I apologize for the lack of work between the summer and my laziness. It's hard to watch a movie, read a script and translate that all into words all at the same time.**

 **And school starting hasn't made it any easier to find time to write...**

 **This part was very hard to write. But now I think I can have more fun with this.**

 **And YES, this is a new ship...Chusti! But the only time I'd actually ship it was if one of them was a girl.**


	3. Take to the Sky

**I'm back, baby!**

 **Since we have a long weekend ahead, I've had some time to get this next chapter out!**

 **Planes belongs to Disney, Dusti and my story belongs to me!**

* * *

Dusti had to admit that New York was very pretty at night as she flew over the harbour and past the Statue of Liberty. But now was not the time for sightseeing, she had a starting point to get to.

As she flew closer to the city, an unfamiliar voice crackled on her radio.

"Break, break. Air racer number 7, air racer number 7. Do you read? Kennedy approach, over."

"...I'm Dusti Crophopper?" She wasn't sure what to say. "I'm looking for JFK airport."

The radio voice spoke again, "Crophopper 7, you're supposed to be on the Carnice Visual." He then proceeded to rattle off a list of directions, only a handful that Dusti actually understood.

"Uh, run that by me again?" The girl requested.

"Turn further left, heading 1-9-5. Maintain 1000-" But halfway through, she dismissed him. "Never mind, I found it!"

"Do you see her?" The tower controller asked his buddy, busy scanning the radar for her plane's signal.

"Well, radar does, but I don't see diddly." He whipped out his own pair of binoculars in an attempt to find her and the small orange cropduster.

* * *

One short and slightly rocky landing later and the teenager found herself in the midst of some of the best of the best racers in the world. She may have looked like she was handling herself fine on the outside, but inside, she was absolutely fangirling out. If she didn't have as much willpower as she did, she'd probably have made a fool out of herself by now.

As she walked through the entrance to the pits, a crew having taken away Strut to her tent/temporary hangar, Roper greeted her, still holding his clipboard as usual. Seeing her, he gave her a smirk.

"Well, looky who's here." He checked her name off his list of present racers.

"Hey, uh-"

"Miss your home town? I don't. Just about blocked that memory out of my mind. But you're bringing it back with that..." He took a big sniff and recoiled again in distain, covering his nose with his clipboard. "Oh man, that nasty Vita-mina-stink-a-bunch."

"Gee, thanks." Dusti sent an annoyed glare his way. She may have been fooled by her own brain, but she was 100% certain that she got all that stink off both her and Strut before they came to New York.

Either that, or he was just playing around with her.

She hoped it was the second.

"Your tent's the last one on the left. Go!" Dusti rolled her eyes at him before walking away from him towards her tent, but one of her favourite racers, in person, caught her attention.

"Wow! Bulldog?" The middle-aged man sitting there and drinking a cup of Earl Grey had dark brown hair streaked with grey and matching eyes without the grey, wearing a flight suit that resembled the Union Jack uncannily. Behind him was his plane, a blue de Havilland DH.88 Comet with a white underside, red wings and landing gear, and the Union Jack also printed on the hood.

"From the European Cup? The Big Dog! Hey, I saw you do this unbelievable high-G vertical turn. How did you do that?" Dusti knew that he obviously wasn't going to indulge his secrets to her, but...you lose a lot of common sense when you're in front of a star.

"Well, let me tell you. In fact," he took a sip of his tea. "Why don't I tell you all of my racing secrets?" That tone he spoke in was a false one, just dripping with sarcasm.

Dusti frowned at this. Did he really have to be that rude about it?

"Look," He continued. "I don't know how things work from the backwater from which you hail, but this is a competition. Every racer for himself!"

"Fine, if you don't want my company, you can just say so." She grumbled and stormed off, but if she'd bothered to look back, she would have seen Bulldog suddenly give a double take and whip out a picture of someone. Someone that was once very close to the older racer.

Dusti couldn't believe her luck. First Ripslinger, now Bulldog. Were all racers going to be like this?

Her question was soon answered as she accidentally tripped over a loose cable and went tumbling down into a pile of cans, their labels unrecognizable to the girl.

"Oh my. Are you OK?" A hand grabbed her and helped her to her feet. Luckily, nothing was hurt. If worse, a little bruised.

"Yeah, thanks I-" Dusti cut herself off when she saw who helped her up. A pretty young woman, some years older than herself with long black hair tied in a ponytail, dark skin and startling green eyes. Her flight suit was a gradient from yellow at the top, fading to red at the bottom and decorated with colourful purple and green flowers. Her plane was a modified AeroCanard FG model with the same kind of colour palette, as she could see from her tent just feet away from them.

"Oh my gosh. You're Ishani, right? Pan-Asian champion and Mumbai cup record holder?" Ishani was by far, one of Dusti's biggest heroes ever since she came onto the scene. Dusti was around 10 or 11 at that time. Being only one of a couple female racers, Ishani was the person who inspired Dusti to find her passion and dream for racing. She'd always dream of seeing her in person. And right now, it was getting hard not to squeal or raise her voice.

"Yes, but most people call me just Ishani." The older woman giggled politely at the young teenager. The ginger sure seemed eager to race and Ishani was always up for a new challenger.

"I'm Dusti, with an I. I hope that we can talk more before the big race tomorrow."

"It's very nice to meet you too." She gave a wave to the younger teen before leaving back to her tent.

"She's awesome..."

"Well, well, well, look who made it." A sharp tone made her jump and turn around to find that sleaze ball Ripslinger behind her with a smile. Not a nice one, but a smile.

"The farm gal with her crop-duster."

Dusti didn't say a thing, but avoided his gaze down at her. It didn't help that he towered a whole half a head above her.

"You know, having you here is a nice interest story. Small town farm girl makes it to the big time." He paused a bit and leaned closer to Dusti's ear. "But tragically crashes on takeoff."

"Excuse me?!" That snapped her back to attention.

But that sly, filthy snake disappeared on her.

Dusti clenched her fist at that and growled. How dare he suggest that she was that bad of a flyer! Ooh, if she just had some height on him, she would so rip that propeller off his plane and carve him up like a-

"Hola, señors y señoritas! The hero of the people has arrived!" Out of nowhere, Spanish music started to play as a large man, around Ripslinger's age or a little older, with light brown skin, brown eyes and dark hair hidden under a green and yellow mask strutted into the pits. A cape of the same style was tied around his neck, hiding under the collar of his white, green and red flight suit, accented in yellow.

Cue the awkward stares and cricket chirping.

"You have never heard of the Great El Chupacabra?"

Apparently not, because encore with the previous introduction from the other racers. I mean, everyone was staring. Ripslinger, Bulldog, Ishani, Roper, even Dusti herself was very confused at this brightly dressed racer dancing in here with such flare.

Did she know him from somewhere?

Then one racer found the courage to ask, "Hey, isn't that the monster that sucks blood from little kids?"

"No, no," El Chu laughed at the preposterous statement. "It's just a stage name, designed to strike fear into the hearts of my opponents."

"Y-Yeah," Dusti found her voice again after recovering from the confusion. "He's the indoor racing champion of all Mexico." Now she remembered who he was. She had occasionally watched him on tv in her youth, but not as often as the other racers.

"Indoor racing?" Bulldog asked.

" _And_ numero uno recording artist, telanovela star and romance novelist." El Chu added onto Dusti's statement, walking past the rest of the tents with flare and grinned with pride.

"Did you say El Chupacabra, or El _Cookoo_ -cabra?" Bulldog inquired in a joking taunt, while his assistants chuckled.

That was a mistake as the younger racer got all up in the older one's face, clearly ticked off. "You make joke? You make joke?! Very well, you leave me no choice! I..."

He whipped himself around so his cape fluttered in the air. "Swish my cape at you! You have been shamed." El Chu had no more business with this disrespectful Brit and pranced off to his own tent.

Bulldog only rolled his eyes, mumbling, "I hope I can get over it. Oh, I just did." His assistants giggled once again.

"Hey," Dusti ran to catch up with El Chu. "I saw you race on Telemoto last year. Of course, it was all in Spanish, so I didn't understand _everything_."

He smiled at the complement. "I am flattered, niñita. You have done many of these long distance rallies, yes?"

"Nah, this is my first one."

"It is my first one as well! We will have many adventures, you and I. We will laugh, we will cry, we will dance!"

"Um...dance?"

"Probably not with each other."

"OK..."

"I will see you in the skies tomorrow, amiga." He let out a whoop and spun around, letting his cape fly again. Dusti only laughed at his antics, but in a friendly way.

This guy... he was something, alright.

* * *

"Race fans, it's that time of year again," Brent Mustangburger voice's announced to the audience at home. "Welcome to the Wings around the Globe." The camera then cut to him in his studio. "Hello, I'm Brent Mustangburger and this is the flagship event where only the best of the best compete."

The camera cut to a digital map, plotting out the route and checkpoints in which the racers would be travelling. First was New York, then Iceland, Germany, Nepal, China and others. "Each leg brings a new challenge, testing agility, navigation and endurance.

But when it's all said and done, _speed_ is the name of the game. Our very own Colin Cowling is standing by live from JFK airport with the best seat in the house. How's the view, big guy?"

"Brent," Colin responded over his headset watching afar from the red, white and black blimp. "The scene below me is absolutely electric. As you know, we have racers from all over the world, here.

But the real story should be who's coming in second to three-time defending champ, Ripslinger, who is seeking to become the first four-time winner in the Wings around the Globe."

It cut to the gang back home, watching the TV with excitement. "The racers are making their way to the runway." Several racers appeared on the camera for a few seconds and finally, Strut appeared on screen.

"It's Dusti!" Dottie pointed to her 'sister' on the screen.

"Alright, everybody, get your Dusti bobbleheads. Your oven mitts, hats, bumper stickers, and I also ordered a thousand commemorative whistles." If Dusti were here now, she'd probably die of embarrassment. She was a modest girl and all of that would have been a _bit_ much for her taste.

He turned to Sparky. "Hey, you think you could help me set up a website?"

"Does a giga bite?"

"Not unless you pet him nicely."

* * *

Cameras kept flickering in her eyes as she walked out to the runway, Strut being towed along side her. Is this really what paparazzi were like?

Nah, they were probably much worse.

Brent spoke again. "136 nations compete. 21 racers selected. Folks, a step onto this field is a step into history." As she stepped out back into the day, her eyes greeted her with a sight she'd never thought she'd seen in forever.

The runway was absolutely massive and stands of spectators all lined up on both sides, cheering.

"Holy smokes..."

"And for the first time ever, folks," Colin continued. "we have a crop-duster in the race flown by a female racer this year."

In a bar, as two patrons watched the tv, it sounded absurd.

"A crop-duster?" One remarked.

"Well, she's gonna die." His friend replied.

Back to the runway...

As the planes were all lining up for take-off, a team of stunt jets flew overhead, smoke trailing behind them.

Dusti found herself lining up right next to El Chu's plane, a matching Gee Bee Model R. "Muchas gracias, señor." He thanked his assistant.

"Whoa. Look at this crowd." She'd never seen this many vehicles in one place before. Frankly, it made her a little uneasy. But of course, she wasn't going to show it.

"Stay focused, amiga. Don't let anything distract y-ay-yay!" The poor Mexican spoke way too soon before he saw...

Her.

Her gorgeous blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in delicate waves and her gorgeous green eyes were framed by long lashes. Her flight suit had a Valentine's Day appearance, varying shades of pink and white and her plane matched her colour scheme.

It was love at first sight.

"Who...is that vision?" He asked Dusti.

"Her? That's Rachelle, the Canadian rally champ."

"She is like an angel, sent from heaven. Like a sunrise after a lifetime of darkness..."

Dusti paused at this. OK then... It only surprised her that they hadn't met last night at the pits.

"Alright, racers! Start your engines!"

That was everyone's cue to leap into their planes and start the race. As Dusti climbed into Strut, she gently patted his dashboard. "We're doing it, we're really doing it, Strut."

The sound of engines roaring to life filled the air. It was one of her most favourite sounds in the world. Hearing them in a place like this just made it even better.

Brent's voice came back on. "Seven legs, over 31,000 kilometres, the world's highest mountains and the deepest oceans, all stand before them just waiting to be conquered by the right competitor."

From their tiny tv screen back in Propwash, the race starter came back, green flag in hand.

"Here we go, oh boy!" Chug and Dottie both watched eagerly to see their friend take to the skies.

"All this preparation. It all comes down to this moment. One of these racers is about to fly off into the pages of sports history and become a champion."

Dusti narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath in, in any attempt to calm down her thudding heart. It all came down to this moment. No more measly training sessions through fields and trees, this was her time to shine!

The green flag went up slowly, slowly and finally...

"GO!"

One by one, the racers took to the air, the crowd roaring and hooting behind them.

But Dusti was currently behind everyone and just like Skipper predicted, air currents started to come in on her from all sides.

"Swirlies!" She immediately let Strut descend further down near the ocean and away from the other racers.

"Our first stage is a whopper," said Brent. "A dead sprint across the North Atlantic."

"That's right, Brent." Colin added. "The winner of the first leg today is the first to take off tomorrow."

As the other racers flew free above the clouds, below them a couple thousand feet was Dusti, flying over the expansive mass of the Atlantic.

But as she got further and further north and icebergs started to appear in the ocean, as well as snow and hail started to pelt her plane, she realized,

 _Maybe I shouldn't have gone this low..._

* * *

As the other racers enjoyed the warm glow of the fires and their toasty drinks in the lodge, a practically frozen country girl stumbled in, shivering. Cold moisture coated her flight suit and dripped from her hair and nose as she made her way inside.

"Hey, look who's finally here! That low-flying farmer girl!" Dusti felt her teeth grit together as she made her way past the troublesome trio. "You _do_ know this is a race, _right?_ " He called after her.

Meanwhile, El Chu decided that maybe now, he could try and "introduce" himself to Rochelle.

"Excuse me, how much does a snowplow weight?"

"Je ne sais pas. I do not know." Even her accent was so charming!

"Enough to break the ice. I am El Chupacabra." He reached out for her hand and kissed the back of it.

She drew it back, realizing what she was dealing with. "Ah, you are the snow plow, oui?"

"You could say that, yes."

"And I am the ice?"

"... _Yes_."

This time, she decided to have a little fun with him. "Cold, frozen and lifeless?" With her response came an annoyed look. But deep down, she was trying not to giggle.

"No! I-it's sounds better in Spanish-" That was certainly a kick she got out of him.

"Oh, why don't you go plow yourself, El Chu-Toy?" She let out a bark of laughter before joining one of her other friends.

"...She is like an angel."

Back in Dusti's corner, she was wrapped in a blanket and trying to drink some of her hot chocolate, not really fond of tea or coffee, when her radio buzzed.

"This is Propwash Junction to Dusti Crophopper." She grabbed the control and turned it on.

"Y-Yeah, I read you, Chu-ACHOO!" She let out a big sneeze and wiped her nose with a tissue. She hoped this wouldn't turn into a cold or pneumonia.

"So, what's it like racing with the big dogs, Duster?"

"Cold."

"Man!"

"I had icicles hanging off Strut's wings and underside."

"Alright!"

"And I nearly smashed into a 10-story iceberg. Add potential frostbite and pneumonia to that, and well... I don't know what to think."

"Well, just hang in there buddy."

Skipper took a turn talking to the girl. "Dusti, just like when the Jolly Wrenches were up in the Aleutians, the air down close to the sea has more moisture, which is why you took on ice. You gotta try to fly higher."

She took another sip of her drink. "I'll try, Skip."

"The good news is tomorrow's leg goes through the Bavarian obstacle course. It's all about agility, so it's your chance to move up. And remember, it's not speed that wins races, it's skill."

The team said their goodbyes and Dusti turned the radio off when she noticed the Pan-Asian racer standing next to her.

"Do you want to sit with me and my crew?" Ishani offered the younger racer. "You seem quite cold sitting there all by yourself.

"Uh... sure!" She got up and sat next to the fire pit with Ishani.

"So," Ishani sipped her green tea. "What made you want to become a racer anyways?"

"Well..."

* * *

 _A cute little red-haired girl, 6 years old, eagerly watched the colourful planes soar through the air and twist and turn through the goals. Behind her was a young_ _couple. A woman with long wavy chocolate brown hair and sky blue eyes, next to a man with bright red hair and dark brown eyes._

 _"Mama, look!" The little girl giggled, pointing at the bright purple plane decorated with pale pink and red flowers that loop-dee-looped in the air at the front of the pack. "She's winning!"_

 _"Yes, Dusti. She's winning, alright." Her mother took her on her shoulders so she could see better. The racer Dusti pointed at was the only female racer currently in the racing season. She was a Hawaiian woman named Akela and was doing exceptionally well, for the only woman in the race._

 _As Akela dipped again, spinning as she got closer to the ground, Dusti asked her mother,_

 _"Mama, do you think I could become a racer like her?"_

 _Jackie Crophopper took her daughter off her shoulders and knelt down to her level, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear._

 _"My little aviator, I know you can reach your dreams one day. And if you dream of being an air racer, then you can be an air racer. All you need is the determination and perseverance to make that dream come true."_

 _"Do you really think so?" Sky blue eyes were wide in hope._

 _And as Jackie watched the purple plane soar across the finish line and the crowd erupt into cheers, she knew._

 _"I **know** so."_

* * *

"Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman, Dusti." Ishani remarked. Her parents were far less supportive of her dreams to become an air racer.

"Yeah... she was." A look of realization crossed the Pan-Asian's face and her hand flew to her lips.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She hadn't meant to bring any unpleasant memories back up again for Dusti.

"No, it's fine. I'm sure if she was here, she'd be so proud of me."

The two sat in silence, until Dusti got to her feet again, her drink finished.

"It's getting late. I'm gonna go to my room and get some sleep."

"See you tomorrow?"

"Of course."

* * *

Skipper was right about one thing, the Bavarian obstacle course was much more suited for her. She was well-trained in her ability to fly with agility and grace and was showing it off quite well right now.

Maybe this was her chance to move up.

But fate had another answer for Dusti Crophopper.

A place ahead of her, Bulldog's plane had a malfunction in its right engine, seizing up with sparks and smoke pouring from it. A squirt of black oil shot out and splattered all over the windshield, blinding the racer. It didn't help that it was nighttime.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! I'm blinded, I can't see!" He frantically called for help from his radio as his plane descended downwards at a rapid pace.

Brent appeared back on screen to report the incident. "We're receiving breaking news of an incident in the skies above Germany involving one of the racers. Let's check in with SkyCam 1 for more information."

Switching to the guy monitoring the situation with a search light from the helicopter, he did his best to report what was happening, despite it being very dark out. "Bulldog, the legendary flyer from the UK, is in tremendous danger. It looks like he's flying blind, losing speed, losing altitude..." Many people watching grew horrified at what could happen to the older racer if help didn't come soon enough.

But miracles do happen and Dusti wasn't someone to let another person die. Even if that did mean placing further behind than she'd hoped.

"Wait! It's Racer Number 7, Crophopper, pulling up beside him!"

"Bulldog! Apply your left aileron!" She radioed to him. Still in a panic, but not as much, knowing someone was helping him, he followed her command and flipped himself back around. "Stop roll!"

"Now quick, pull up!"

"Got it!" The two managed to evade the forest below them.

"Harder, harder! Slight roll right!" Under the bridge they went, their wings barely skimming the surface of the water. "Good!"

"Big castle!" She yelped when she saw the humongous building they were heading right towards. "Pull up, hard roll right! Stop roll!" Somehow, he obeyed Dusti's orders just in time to avoid smashing into the towers of the castle.

"Are you still there?" He cried out, after flying right through a flag, tearing it to shreds.

"Don't worry, I'm not leaving your side until you're safe on the ground!" Dusti kept good speed with Bulldog.

As the other racers made their descent, the runway was being cleared for Bulldog's descent and an ambulance was being dispatched onto the field.

"Add power, easy now. Good." They were so close to the runway... "Flaps down, lock them."

"Careful, niñita.." El Chu whispered.

"Landing gear down."

"Yeah, and locked."

"Begin your flare. Power back a little." A little more... a little more...

The crowd's breath was baited; would she get Bulldog back on the ground safely?

The Havilland's wheels made contact with pavement as they both landed back on the ground, Dusti behind him and now in last place. But right now, Bulldog's safety was much more important. "Touchdown!"

The crowd found this moment to cheer for both her heroic actions and the racer's safety. An emergency crew came to see if Bulldog was alright or suffered any injuries while in the air.

Bulldog opened the windshield and stumbled out, a bit shaken up, but otherwise alright. His crew took the Havilland away to get it repaired and cleaned.

"Thanks for your help, lassie. I couldn't have done it without..." He trailed off when he saw her climb out of her own plane.

"You? You saved me? What did I tell you, girl? Every racer for himself, right?" He couldn't understand why she would just sacrifice her place in the race to help him.

"Where I come from, if you see someone falling from the sky-"

"Yes, but this is a competition! Now you're dead last. And..." He sniffled a bit. "I owe you my life."

"Are you... crying?" Dusti asked.

"I don't cry, I'm British!" Bulldog denied, wiping away those stubborn bits of moisture from his eyes. "But thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Bulldog!" A sudden crowd of paparazzi appeared to interview the UK racer about his troubling ordeal in the air.

"I gotta say, farm girl." She jumped at his voice. Man, he had to stop doing that. "You're a nice one." That didn't sound right.

"Uh...tha-"

"And we all know where nice people end up." And there it was.

"Oh, leave the poor girl alone, you git. Don't you have somewhere else to go?" Bulldog stepped in.

"Fine, we'll go, grandpa. Little girl can't fight her own battles. Besides, I got a shiatsu massage with my name on it." He left with his two cronies trailing behind him like puppy dogs.

"Ignore him, Dusti. Ripslinger may be a winner, but that bloke has no sense of humility." Bulldog gently rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I kinda figured that out when I saw him at the starting point."

"Listen, would you like to come to my tent later and have some refreshments after we get settled in? I think it would be nice if we got to know each other a little more."

Dusti nodded. "OK.. I'll be there."

"Does 7:15 sound good?"

"Sure."

* * *

 **Niñita - Little Girl**

 **And in case any of you are wondering what Dusti looks like in Plane form...think of the original Dusty, but with a paler orange colouration and different black and blue designs. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.**


	4. Climbing Up the Ranks

**Hey guys.**

 **My grandfather passed away on Oct 24th back in 2017. Combined with that and all this school work has left me pretty drained for ideas.**

 **I wanted to post a 2nd chapter this week, but thanks to lack of inspiration and a sudden case of laryngitis... yeah.**

 **I won't be active for a while, I'm going on a school trip to New York. Apologies for that.**

 **Now, THIS is a part that's not canon as you could probably assume from the last chapter.**

 **No meeting Franz in the bar, but hanging out with Bulldog in his tent.**

 **The Planes franchise doesn't belong to me. Though if it did, I'd like to voice a side character in it.**

* * *

"So, how do you like in the rally so far, lassie?" Bulldog leaned back in his chair, his spoon clinking off the side of the cup as he stirred some sugar into his tea.

Dusti stared down at her own glass of iced tea. She'd never been a fan of coffee or hot tea. Iced tea was fine. "Well... I guess the first leg was pretty hard. And the second one I felt I did do well on."

 _At least until I helped him. But I shouldn't be too upset. He could have died if I hadn't intervened._

"Ah, well. You have the rest of the race to look forward to, yes?"

"I don't know. The Himalayas don't seem very... _nice_." She didn't really like the thought of going over the world's highest mountain range. Boy, would her fear of heights cost her dearly then.

"You are correct about that. On my first rally, I almost clipped one of my plane's wings clean off when I missed seeing part of the mountain top, just swerving out of the way at the last second."

Dusti smiled a little at that. "Wow. Good thing you got out, right?"

"I'm not sure if got out is the right term. Got out with a near cardiac arrest is more like it, lassie."

The two shared a laugh out of that.

"Hey, thanks for standing up for me back there. I mean, I think I could have handled Ripslinger myself, but it's nice to know there's someone looking out for me."

"It's no problem, Dusti. But before the race, it was mentioned somewhere your name with Dusti _Crophopper_ , right?"

"Yeah...?"

"Then...is this..." Bulldog pulled out a rumpled picture from his pocket and handed it to her. It was certainly old and the edges frayed, but it was still in decent condition.

Her blue eyes widened.

Staring back at her was a younger Bulldog and another woman with mussed up brown hair, sky blue eyes that showed one of them winking at her and an ecstatic grin.

"Mom?"

Bulldog's eyebrows went up for a moment. "So, she _is_ your mother?"

"Y-Yeah... how do you know her?"

"Know her?" The English racer started to chuckle, remembering the energetic and outspoken young lady Jackie proved herself to be. "She was my number one fan back in the day! Every race I was in, she attended. Always in the front row and always cheering my name. I thought of her as a bit loony in the beginning, but when I met her in person during a Meet-and-Greet, I discovered she was very sweet and strong-willed. Sort of like you, Dusti. I admire that in a woman.

We soon started to meet more often outside of my races and even after she got a partner, got married and settled down, she still enjoyed to socialize with me but much less than before. However..."

His mouth turned downwards in a frown. "She never told me she had a daughter until I saw on the news about her and her partners' shocking death and how you were-." Only just realizing what he'd said, he looked alarmed and apologized rapidly.

"It's alright, Bulldog. You don't need to apologize for anything." It had been years and Dusti had barely any memory of the accident. Her parents had died in a car crash on their way home from a race, but somehow she survived in the backseat with only a couple of minor bruises and scrapes and a slightly sore back from being suddenly jolted forwards without warning. Maybe it was the trauma of the incident or her current age then, but all she remembered of it was only blankly staring after the wreckage as she was being lead away from it and to another car that would take her to the hospital. She didn't cry, she didn't scream. All she did was stay silent with a million wordless thoughts whirling through her head like a storm at sea.

"Yes, but still. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"That was years ago. I think I would have moved on by now. You did, right?"

The English racer didn't say a word, but nodded.

Trying to change the subject abruptly, Dusti put in, "So, did anyone ever try to discourage you from racing?"

"Well, I discovered I wanted to be a racer when I was still a juvenile. My parents were fine with it, but my older brother Alec didn't think it was a very safe career choice. He was always a bit too smothering with my personal safety. I mean, he was a lot older than me."

Dusti looked at him, surprised. "You have an older brother?"

"Yes, he's worked in the army before and he was one of the few ones that came back from a rough battle against enemy territory."

Army... that reminded her of Skipper.

"Huh, my mentor was in the army before. He's a war veteran now and he used to be on the Jolly Wrenches."

"Oh, really? What was his name?"

"Skipper."

"As in, _Skipper Riley_?"

"Yup."

"My brother would know him, then. He's shown me a picture once when he visited the Flysenhower on one of his days off to catch up with his friends." Bulldog didn't keep the picture on him at all times, but he would have gladly shown her if he had it with him. Right now, the picture was safely tucked away in a drawer back at his home in England.

"Cool." Dusti sipped her iced tea.

The two continued to chat until the clock on his desk chimed loudly and the hands stiffly stood out, reading 7:45 PM.

"Well, I think we'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day. We're headed to India next. It was nice to have a chat with you and I wish you well on the next legs of the rally, Dusti. Goodnight."

"Night, B-Dog." The copper-haired girl stood up, set her half-finished iced tea on the table and left his tent to go back to her own.

"...She really is just like her mother in some ways."

His brown eyes flew to the half-full glass resting idly on the table. "Especially how she doesn't seem to finish any drink all the way."

 **(For anyone wondering, here's how I think the order of age (youngest to oldest) would go: Bulldog - Skipper - Alec.)**

* * *

"It's our third leg and we've already lost several competitors to engine failure." Brent observed the scenes as the racers began crossing Europe into Asia, some of them being forced to descend back to the ground with smoke coming out of their engines or some other kind of malfunction in their plane.

"But the real question here, Brent," Colin chimed in with his input. "is Dusti Crophopper. The camera showed the girl tilt Strut to the side and let his wing tip almost skim the surface of the water, the air current produced by it splashing tiny droplets into the air as she flew.

"Absolutely," Brent replied. "She's passing one flier after another." People of all types watched the daring girl in the current leg. It was on TV in an sushi restaurant.

"That's right. This gal was raised to dust crops," On the Flysenhower, she was a big hit. "But she's dusting the competition." And in a bar in Mexico, her feats were displayed on the flat screen. "What's next, Colin?" Her friends eagerly watched their TV back in Propwash Junction.

"This could be Crophopper's leg all the way. The racers will have to fly under a hard ceiling of 1,000 feet. Stay under the clouds and in the hills." From a viewing point, Roper and a cameraman examined the racers carefully to see that none of them exceeded the height limit.

"Number 20 is disqualified." Roper said over his radio.

Back and forth, Dusti twisted her plane nimbly in the air around the other racers and for the last one in front of her, she passed him with a radial g-pass. "What a move! Look at that radial-g pass!" Brent commented as she crawled her way up to eighth place. "From last place, all the way up to eighth!"

"Mr. Ripslinger," a reporter in India asked. "You were born to race."

"Yeah, you know it!" He flashed a charming smile to the camera.

"So how can a girl in a crop-duster out-fly you?"

His smile fell. "Wait, what?"

"There she is!" One of the other reporters cried and they all left Ripslinger to talk to the newest racer in the rally and bombard her with questions.

"How do you keep up with the pros?"

"Did working on the farm help you?"

"Dusti! Why do you fly so low?"

Back from where the reporters left him, Ripslinger growled. How dare she get all this attention! She wasn't even a real racer! Just a washed-up farm girl who thought she was good enough for the rally! She may have fooled the others, but she wasn't fooling him!

"Why are they wasting their time with _her?_ She flies a tractor with wings!"

"Actually," began Ned(?). "it's a really compelling underdog story. It's like Rocky."

"It's more like David and Goliath." Zed pitched in.

"Or Old Yeller."

"That's not an underdog story!"

"Well, there's a dog in it."

"Enough!" Ripslinger's patience finally snapped.

"Yeah, enough!" Zed smacked his brother upside the head.

"You know, they shot Old Yeller at the end, you twits."

"Aw, spoiler alert!" Zed moaned. He hadn't finished reading it yet!

"Soon we'll be overrun by every banner tower, skywriter and air freighter pilots who thinks they can be one of us. That farm girl forgot who she is and where she came from. She's not going to stop me from making history." At this point, Ripslinger was...well, not desperate just yet. But getting close to it.

He'd do anything to stop her from winning.

 _Anything._

Back at the reporters...

"Dusti, Dusti, how did you learn to race?"

Oh, this question was easy. She had no reason to lie. "From my coach, Skipper." She shrugged nonchalantly. "He's the reason I'm even here. He's an amazing instructor and a great friend. He flew dozens of missions all around the world. And I'm sure, if he could, he'd be with us right now."

Back at home, the praise Skipper heard from the girl was both heartwarming and painful at the same time. He _knew_ Dusti would want him to be there, but the reasons he didn't come weren't the reasons he told her.

It was complicated.

But looking back at the screen, seeing her process and how far the determined teenager made it...

Maybe he could try.

* * *

"You sure you wanna go through with this, Skip?" Sparky asked him as he helped the old pilot into his Corsair. He didn't respond. "I'll take your silence as a yes."

The night was cold, but windless. Not a cloud in the sky and the moon a giant spotlight against the black. A perfect night.

Tiny lights twinkled down the runway, marking their path.

With a slow whir that filled the silence, the wings of the Corsair started to unfold back to their full length.

Sparky held his breath with anticipation. After all these years, was he really going to fly again?

The propeller roared to life, exhaust pumping out from the first few false starts, until it was up and running. The noise of the engine steadily increased in volume as he increased the throttle.

Then very slowly, Skipper started to taxi down the runway.

Yes! He was finally going to-!

But then he stopped.

The engine died down. The propeller slowed. The wings folded back in.

Sparky's heart drooped. So Skipper wasn't going to fly after all.

He was so sure that after seeing Dusti indirectly encourage him like that, he'd be flying again. He never even got into his Corsair before...

But none of that mattered. Sparky knew that. Skipper must have had a good reason not to fly again.

And if it were something else...

He'd understand. He'd known Skipper for years. But right now, he just needed a friend.

So much had happened lately. After years of calm living, Dusti came barreling into Skipper's life with her dreams.

It was a lot to deal with and his feelings were a bit more... complicated than usual.

As Sparky helped the old veteran out of his plane and into his wheelchair, he caught a crestfallen look in his friend's eyes. Not at him specifically, but at himself.

 _At least you tried, Skip. Whatever it is, I'll be right behind you._

"Whoa, your engine sounds kinda rough." He started to wheel him back to the hangar. "Must be a mag misfire. It's probably not a good night for flying anyway."

He'd pick up the Corsair after.

* * *

"OK, come back soon!" Chug waved off his latest customer from his merch stand, having just bought a Dusti-themed antenna ball for her car from him.

Two teens, one wearing an orange cap with her picture on it, asked him, "Hey, you got anything new?"

Chug pulled something from the stand and set it in front of them. Ever since Dottie told him about what Dusti may think of all the merchandise, he started to use her plane Strut a _bit_ more often than Dusti herself. She didn't want her to be embarrassed because of something he did without her knowing...

...

Of course he told her later! Who did you think he was?

The mug was orange, white, black and blue patterned, just like her plane with a tiny propeller on the front. (She had since added some light blue ones on the sides as well.)

"I'm glad you asked. I'm now selling these one-of-a-kind Strut commemorative mugs." He poured some hot coffee into the mug and the propeller spun.

"Whoa."

A radio screeched from inside the hangar. "This is Dusti Crophopper calling-"

Chug put his sign up quickly, "I'll be back in 10." before rushing back into the hangar, where Skipper, Sparky and Dottie were already waiting. Sparky was wearing one of his caps and t-shirts he'd been selling.

"Dusti, eighth place! I'm proud of you, girl!" Dottie complimented her. She'd made so much process so quickly in the race, it was amazing!

"Way to go, Dustmeister! You're slaying the competition!" Chug really was excited to see her race her dreams. And even if she wasn't in first, he enjoyed seeing her grace in the air. But occasionally, he couldn't help but worry that something bad would happen to her.

...Nah.

"Dusti," Skipper took over. "You got a big leg tomorrow. How you feeling?"

"Well..."

"I can't believe it. The mighty Himalayas." Chug interrupted.

Dottie cut back in. "Dusti, that vertical wind shear is going to be _wicked_ over those mountains. Just be careful."

"Well, the good thing about being that high up, you see, there's not a lot of oxygen. So, if you crash, no explosion." As soon as that stream of unhelpful word vomit was out of his mouth, Chug felt like slapping himself in the head. _Stupid! Why'd you have to ramble like that?_

Dottie really did facepalm at his words, but Dusti only giggled at his antics. "Great, Chug, thanks." She turned back to her bulletin board with the map pinned to it, carefully depicting the harsh landscape she'd have to cross. "Skip.. what if a gal wanted to fly _through_ the mountains instead of over them?"

"Bad idea," He shot down her idea rapidly. "The Wrenches flew through terrain like that in the assault of Kumming. And Dottie is right. Wind coming over the peaks can stir up rotors that'll drag you right down." He was not going to let her kill herself like that so foolishly. It was time for her to man-up and be brave. No more of this fear of heights nonsense, it was time to get serious. "If you ask me, it's time to for you to stop letting this fear get the best of you. You can fly a whole lot higher than you think."

Dusti sighed. So this was it, huh? Time to try and overcome her fear. Easier said than done. But she had to try.

"Roger that." She clicked off.

"Hola, corazón!"

El Chu? She turned around and saw the older Mexican racer following Rochelle outside her tent. Who clearly looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else but there.

"Are you tired?"

"What?"

"Because you've been flying through my mind. Nonstop."

"Hmm." Rochelle smirked at his weak attempt to woo her again. "And why would I be tired flying through such a teeny-tiny space, huh?"

Her arms folded and she scoffed, leaving him alone.

"You can only resist for so long!" El Chu called after her.

"Hey, El Chu. Girl problems?" Dusti approached him. El Chupacabra was a nice guy; very kind and sweet, but he was going about this the wrong way.

He genuinely looked sad at her rejections. "Sí. I am Icarus and she is the sun. I fly too close... and I melt."

"In that case, why not dial back on the flirting and just be yourself? I think Rochelle isn't really impressed by it. I mean, she seems like the kind of woman who doesn't really like that stuff. So, why not just start by being friends? That way you'll get closer to her and eventually you may have a chance at wooing her in the future." Dusti personally knew this from experience. Once or twice in her youth, a guy visited Propwash and tried to flirt with her. _Tried_. Needless to say, she didn't really find it romantic. That, and her friends were kinda resentful of the new guy and tried to keep him away from her. Especially Chug.

"...Perhaps, but I am not sure."

"Look, you're just trying too hard. Just go over there, open your mouth and say-"

"Hello." Both racers jumped at the new voice and turned to see Ishani there.

"I-Ishani! Didn't see you there!" Dusti laughed nervously, giving a small wave.

"I wanted to compliment you on your success, Dusti. You've been doing very well for your first race."

"Oh!" The ginger blushed scarlet at the compliment, hiding some of her freckles. One of her heroes, thought SHE was doing good in the same competition as them! It was a dream come true! "T-Thanks! That means so much coming from you. I mean, you were named most aerodynamic racer by Air Sports Illustrated and after being with you in the competition with you for a couple of days now, I can see that they made a good choice!"

 _(By this point, El Chupacabra had excused himself from the two-way conversation.)_

Dusti was about to continue when a brown cow trotted between them, mooing at a baritone level.

And as she looked around closer, she noticed that more cows were wandering the streets.

"Um... what's with all the cows?" She asked Ishani.

"They're sacred." The Indian pilot replied. "Many believe that we'll be reincarnated into cows."

"That's... interesting." Dusti was very confused at this, but only went along with it. So... reborn... into cows? Huh.

"Have you ever been to the Taj Mahal?" Ishani inquired.

Dusti shook her head no.

"Then I'd love to show you."

* * *

"It must be nice to be back home." Dusti was in awe at the beautiful forest below them, the river a thick band of shining sunlight.

Ishani chuckled. "Well, it's complicated." The pair flew over a field of cows graving in the field. "I have a billion fans and they're all expecting me to win."

"Maybe this time, you will."

"A girl can dream."

As the two flew over the river, a flock of gulls scattered into the air, startled by the planes. And over another hill of trees, came into view the beautiful pearly white Taj Mahal.

"Wow, this place is amazing!" Dusti gasped as the two flew a bit closer, circling around the high dome roof and columns.

"Yes, it really is." Ishani seemed to swell with pride for her home country. "And tomorrow, you'll fly over the magnificent Himalayas."

Dusti's stomach knotted at the reminder. Oh. Right. Tomorrow, they'd be flying over the highest mountain range in the world. With her luck, she'd crash into Mt. Everest if she wasn't careful!

Ishani noticed the other racer's silence. "Are you nervous about the mountains?"

"No, no. No." The two slowly started to descend.

"Dusti, I know how you like to fly low-"

"Air density and such-"

"Have you ever thought about following the Iron Compass instead of flying high?"

"The "Iron Compass"?"

"Railroad tracks. Through a valley in the mountains, so you can still fly low."

Dusti's heart soared. If she followed the "Iron Compass", she could still get to her destination and not have to brave the mountains! Of course, this would just be delaying the inevitable of facing her fears, but who cared! She could do this leg her way!

"Really? Thank you, Ishani!"

"Anytime."

* * *

"Every racer's nightmare is scaling the Himalayas." Brent told the audience. "It's a short leg ahead, but extremely treacherous."

The racers flew high above the mountains in order to ensure a safer route.

All except for one racer, who dove down deeper and deeper into the mountain range undetected. Dusti Crophopper.

 _Railroad tracks!_ She steadily flew a few feet above them. As long as she followed them like Ishani said, she'd be fine.

She wound around a turn and-!

 _Tunnel!_

Panic surged through the teenager. She hadn't expected this! Her blue eyes darted back and forth, hoping for a way out.

The only way out was...

UP.

And so, she tried to climb up.

But she made the worst mistake she could have.

She looked down.

Just like back home, the world seemed to funnel and twist on itself. But unlike Propwash, the snow was swirling around and she couldn't clearly see the ground.

 _Ican'tseethegroundIcan'tseetheground-_

Her heart, pounding like a drum, finally seemed to stop as she descended rapidly. OK, she was NOT trying that again for a while.

But as she flew away from the mountain, she still had to get past it somehow or risk losing her lead.

Worse, be disqualified!

And for everything she'd worked for, her whole life, was she going to let it go?

"NO."

If there was one thing Dusti wasn't, it was a quitter.

She turned Strut around and did the most dangerous thing in her life.

She narrowed her eyes and flew directly into the train tunnel.

Yes, it was a tight fit and she had to turn her plane on an angle to fit, but she was flying through it and that was what mattered. She was just lucky that Strut was small enough to fit in the cramped space.

"Ah!" She yelped, hearing the screech of metal and being jostled around. Strut's wings were grazing the sides of the tunnel.

But nothing too serious.

She'd be fine, as long as she'd-

*CHOO-CHOO*

"Whoa!" That was a train whistle. A TRAIN WHISTLE.

Dusti could just barely make out a blurry shape at the end of the tunnel.

A steam train, carrying a large number of passengers, was on the track and on course to collide with her.

The conductor, previously relaxed, seemed to pick up that SOMETHING was in the tunnel and that something was a plane! Suddenly, the brakes on the train forced themselves back, sparks flying everywhere.

It didn't look like he'd stop in time and the train wasn't slowing down either.

Closer and closer the two came. The conductor, devoid of hope, squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the imminent explosion.

Dusti felt herself scream in terror, but the sound of her voice was drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

And then, as if on instinct, she jammed the throttle as far as she could go and pulled up the moment she saw blue sky above her-


	5. AN

As you all know, I have officially abandoned this profile and its stories, BUT I will be leaving them up.

If anyone wishes to take over this story for me, by all means, be my guest.

\- Sty


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